


Even in Darkness

by RivenAnsen



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Eldritch, Gen, Horror, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23044555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RivenAnsen/pseuds/RivenAnsen
Summary: The estranged son of a fallen family line receives a letter addressed from his long-deceased ancestor, beckoning him to the manor that saw the end to a proud pedigree. Gathering what little he has, the heir to a damned name returns to his forgotten home to return his family to glory. However, the corruption clutching his home stretches deeper than he could possibly imagine.
Kudos: 2





	Even in Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Best experienced in Times New Roman.

**Prologue**

**The Old Road**

A violent shudder of rotten lumber and creaking axel roused me from the fragile rest my weary eyes had found with the same proficiency of an ice cold tin of water. Relieving my weight from the worn cushion of the inner stagecoach, I kneaded my eyelids; a germinating fire of vexation billowing within my very core. I could not recall when I had last slept; whether it be the incessant wailing of disease-ridden wimmenfolk, or the dearth of proper resting places, the call for repose remained neglected throughout the extent of this sojourn.

With the desire for sleep a distant grievance, I dropped my hand to the side and unsealed my lids. The bloodied crimson of my iris regarded the dingy interior of the stagecoach with impassivity; the intermittent shunting throws and ominous groans now habitual and ritualistic. Almost predictable in a way. The timing between the dips and divots in the dirt road a constant noise. It wasn't all too surprising, the axels and ribbage of the trolley hadn't seen proper care in heavens knew how long. Each shudder was a score into an already weary vehicle that struggled to yet fulfill its purpose even now.

Due to the tremulous and flammable nature of the ancient vehicle, there was little to offer the compact space its luminosity save a candle submerged in its own waxy blood. It seemed to wilt under my oppressive gaze, sinking further into the stained iron of its holder. The smoky tip of its wick waxed and waned, the fibers of smoke drifting up and away to seep through the plethora of passages in the wood of the cart.

It was enough. These days you had to take what radiance you could attain, however weak it may be. Though, the combination of the unsteady cart and the weak flicker of the candle mustered a bevy of haunting shadows that seemed to dance around the compartment with an ethereal vivacity to them- haunting and unnerving. It was best to not stare too long.

Feeling my cerise-ringed pupil contracting, I thoroughly scanned what little of the coach that remained untouched by the crawling shadows. Two souls fell under my ever sharpening gaze; a man and woman of the cloth respectively. My… _companions_ , as they were, on this painstaking journey. Conscripts, I would see them more aptly entitled in time.

Situated on the leftmost section of the torn bench cushion was a zealous warrior; the tempered steel of his helmet and armor, each of which carried the Five-fold cross of the church, denoted him as such. Though I had yet to see his face unveiled, relief flooded my veins as I found him leaning his helmet against the hilt of his frightfully dull, yet still wieldy, blade. Apparently he had been able to find respite where I could not. The simple sight of the warrior sleeping relieved me of some of my worries. _So he is human…_

Perhaps it was a ridiculous notion to consider him anything otherwise, but I had heard the tales and deeds of the legions of crusaders that took orders from the cardinal. Truly inhuman feats, yet also so very human in a way.

Seated upon the rightmost edge of the moldy plush was a holy vestal; a sacrosanct of the church and its mystical properties. Devout to the light, yet still chained to the command of her mortal superior, the vestal was a strange existence indeed. I watched with mute interest as the blonde locks uncovered by the brown cowl slipped behind her ear with a dainty finger. Like her companion, she seemed completely undisturbed by the ceaseless convulsing of the horse-drawn vehicle, her attention solely affixed to the thick tome resting on her knees.

Truly she was a beauty, but I found myself occupied with far more pertinent worries. The pious sister seemed far too delicate for the task that awaited at the end of this hellish road. The church and its repellant proprietor had assured me that though she was a capable fighter, her true strength lay elsewhere. I glanced at the menacing mace by her foot; I suppose her eminence in battle would be proven, or for that matter, disproven, in time. I would not voice my concerns lest I receive a first hand demonstration of her proficiency.

Regardless of their incalculable worth in battle, I knew I had little room to complain. With nothing more than a gold to my tainted name, the possibility of receiving aid on this nigh suicidal journey had been slim. No mercenary would willingly give their life out of the goodness of their hearts; the time of righteous sacrifice had long passed.

Even still, through a miraculous confluence of fortune and silver-tongued skills, I persuaded an archbishop that I had set out on a divine quest to expunge the unholy abominations that lurk in the crust of our dying world. Sympathizing with my burden, the archbishop conscripted these two fine souls to assist in this cleanse. He was amusedly unruffled with the gravity of my quest, perhaps in his arrogance he failed to acknowledge the very real possibility that they would not return. Though, aggravatingly, he seemed rather eager to rid himself of the female priestess; as if he saw me as little more than an avenue to offload a troublesome pest onto.

In the end it did not matter; so long as they proved their worth in war and learnt to adapt, they would yet survive.

A choking snore knocked me free from these morbid thoughts as though I were struck forcefully betwixt the eyes. The burning chagrin within my soul flared once again as the corner of my mouth tugged in narrowly maintained anger. Readjusting my sight to my own right side revealed the abhorrent passenger that I had been unwittingly saddled with.

He had claimed to be an ordinary mercenary- a bounty hunter, if you will. But I knew better. I did not get this far in life by being so gullible. He was a bandit. A rouge. A _highwayman,_ and his very presence set me on the edge of my metaphorical seat. If the ragged clothing failed to make this abundantly obvious, then the curious glint beneath his eyes- the thirst for riches, made it so. Just how many lives had he taken with that rusty pistol and knife he kept concealed within his coat? For now my unease remained dormant, the vulgar man locked deep within his own slumber could not hurt anyone; his head leaning upon the backrest, choking snores bursting from his throat in a sporadic fashion.

Truthfully my need would have been sated with only the two sanctified warriors at my side, but the introduction of this highwayman had been an unavoidable circumstance. The justly dubbed crusader had insisted upon the presence of the bandit, citing his overwhelming competence in battle and the cunning might of his intuition. He must have noticed my dubiety at the time, for he delivered a dastardly ultimatum; either I take the highwayman along, or neither of them would participate.

Obviously the two were long time companions of some sort. I cared not. But the possibility of losing the only veridical warrior under my command was one that I could not allow. Grudgingly I conceded. It was a blow to my pride that I would not allow to occur again, but concessions must be made.

Swallowing my ruminations, I tilted my head as the muted cracking of whips slowly increased in tempo. As the thunder cracks grew more abundant, so too did the shaking throws and shunts as they sped over the disjointed avenue. Raising a curious brow, I shuffled to the side and peered through the borderless walling that constituted a window. Only a blurred landscape greeted my sight; our speed had increased so greatly that it had become impossible to distinguish anything outside the carriage.

The trembling only grew in intensity. This caravan was not made for such speeds, especially not on such uncertain ground. What madness had taken the coachman?

A violent lurch sent the coach shuddering, instantly I and the rest of my compatriots were uprooted from our seats with violent force. I, in a good show of the god's finite grace, managed to catch myself narrowly upon the ledge of the window- stalling a fall that would have otherwise broken my skull open like a robin's egg. The armored knight was not so fortunate; being caught flat footed in his dreamscape, the man could do little more than grunt in shock before being slammed into the wall with a sharp metallic ring.

The priestess in our graces had managed to safeguard herself in the corner of the wagon- her legs acting as a brace against the opposite wall to keep her pressed tightly against her spot. The quick thinking saved her from the worst of the keeling, but I could still make out shock and the beginning of fear on her shadowed features. On the other end of the spectrum, the resident criminal in our midst had been rightfully thrown to the ground the instant the carriage shunted- cursing out expletives as he nursed a tyrian purple bruise on his head. If I had any room for an emotion beside worry and confusion, I may have borne a sense of cruel satisfaction to see him writhe.

Grunting and fighting against the worsening shocks traveling through the failing wood, I methodically laboured over the bodies and up to the wooden lattice that seperated the coach interior from the driver's seat. With a burning sense of dread propelling my every move, I slammed a desperate fist against the lattice once, twice, and then thrice with intensity. I was set to call out to the madman and demand he stop, when a low noise, nearly indistinguishable from the howling wind, met my ears.

A weak, almost pitiful gurgling. Like a small animal trapped in a pit of tar, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of viscous muck. It was the sound of a perforated windpipe, and ineligible words spoken through a tide of thickened blood.

Before I could ponder the blood-curdling noise any further, a powerful _snap_ shattered the air. Beneath the caravan, its wheel and axle finally gave way under the intense pressure and shattered.

The carriage gave a violent heave, throwing me across the space and into the distant partition hard enough to steal my breath. With a maddening tilt, no different than shifting a shattered periscope, the entire world seemed to turn upon its head. The world outside the window rotated past, and gravity itself pressed me against the wall, sapping away any strength I had to shield myself.

A mighty crash bludgeoned my eardrums, the wood screaming in capitulation as the carriage was quite literally torn apart under its own strength. Thick chips of timber whizzed around the compartment as if they were under the spell of a whirlwind, and when the windows finally saw fit to shatter with an encompassing _bang_ they too joined the maelstrom. Before my very eyes I witnessed reality shred itself to pieces until, with a baleful whimper, the wall at my back gave way, and consciousness failed me.

* * *

Awareness did not come immediately. My mind, still reeling from shock, could barely align itself under the heady pound of pain behind my eyes. My eyelids flickered weakly and my fingers scraped into the ground as I tried to force myself to awaken. The ground was slick and easily gave way to my clawing, and stuck to my flesh whenever my fingers pulled away bearing with it a cool and earthy sensation that did wonders to center me.

Not even a brimming cask of aged wine had produced such an awful, disorienting malaise as what I felt now. Truly, I felt as though I had been drawn and quartered by a legion of thoroughbred war-horses.

With a shake of my head and a groan of discontent, I was finally able to fully open my eyes and gaze weakly around myself. Directly ahead, I was greeted with the sight of my conscripted carriage lying in shambles. The timber that made up its framework was shattered, all of its pieces and parts scattered across the forest floor as if it had simply been blown to pieces from within by black powder. What remained of the carriage was pressed against a particularly thick tree, the warped and fractured wall of the carriage making it obvious the final crash had not been in its favor.

Utterly unsalvageable. I could only weakly lament the hapless fate. Although wholly unpleasant, the caravan had made short work of the vast distance between my destination and my origination. There was no denying that the loss of it now was beyond unfortunate. I could only dully hope that our journey was at its near conclusion, otherwise…

Focusing back upon the present, I wrenched my attention away to scrutinize further the setting laid out before me. The area seemed to be a sparse clearing, guarded on nearly all sides by thick foliage and trees that seemed to stretch maddeningly high. I was laid face down in the mud in the middle of the clearing, a noticeable distance from the carriage. Peering down at the wet dirt, I could make out the thick lines in the ground that suggested something had been _dragged_ through it.

It seems I wasn't the only one to survive our catastrophe. Rolling over, I braced my palms against the cool forest bed and attempted to push myself up, only to crumple onto my back with a cry of pain. My arm throbbed in strict protest, forcing me to grit my teeth like a hound and fight the instinct to groan again. Carefully leveraging myself up to a seated position with my other hand, I brought my throbbing right arm forward for inspection and winced at what I discovered.

Lodged directly into the flesh of my forearm, I was greeted with the unpleasant sight of a shard of wood piercing my skin. The fractured piece seemed to be buried quite deep, a worrying pool of blood surrounding the ruined skin that housed it.

I stared at it dubiously. The pain wasn't astronomical by any means, but I still found myself stunned at the mighty wound in my flesh. Steeling myself, I wrapped a tight grip around the thick end of the splinter and worked it around, wincing and hissing at the sharp lances of molten hot pain that speared up my arm. With a final tug, the wood piece freed itself with a gush of crimson blood that splashed against my white dress shirt, staining a memory there.

Staring at the splinter of wood with labored disgust, I uncaringly tossed it aside and braced myself against my black slacks to finally stand tall. With my strength arduously returning, I gave the surrounding grove a second glance. Apart from a couple claustrophobic breaks in the walls of barbed brambles, it really did feel as though I was walled in on every axis. The thick-bodied trees seemed to hide behind them an almost suffocating darkness, one that not even the afternoon sun could pierce through.

"For the love of-! Put your back into it Reynauld!"

The corpse of the caravan gave a small shudder as I turned toward it, now keenly aware of the faint sound of voices and struggle coming from the other side of the wrecked structure. Rolling my shoulder, I plodded across the pliant mud, taking care to skirt around the still spinning wheel in my path. The carriage jolted once more before I managed to unsteadily stagger around its hidden side. There, I found my missing companions.

The contracted crusader was set at kneel beside the ruined carriage, his gauntlets fitted into the grooves of the vehicle as he tugged and pulled at the weighty beast. His efforts to lift or otherwise move it were inefficacious, and barely managed to elicit any response; even still, he continued to growl and yank with his strength. The vestal was on her hands and knees, gulping laboriously and sweating heavily with her pale skin soaked in sweat. It seemed she had been assisting the warrior, but her pitiful strength barely made any difference in the end. To my surprise, both of them weren't all too injured; the vestal on account of her thick robes, and the warrior due to his tempered plates.

Finally, there was my irritant. The tag-along bandit was laid prostrate on the ground, the hull of the carriage laid heavy across his stomach and legs. Perhaps in some twisted sense of fortune, the wood husk was laid in just such a way that it was simply pinning the scruffy man to the floor, rather than crushing him to paste outright. Regardless, it was simply far too heavy for him to lift on his lonesome, forcing him to bark at the crusader to 'lift harder'.

Then his fierce eyes met mine, and a plethora of emotions rattled through them. "You're finally up! Hurry up and help get this mess offa' me already, Rich-boy!"

 _Rich boy…_ Part of me wanted to leave him to starve to death, or be mauled by the denizens of the forest, but the larger and more directed part still needed him. Heaving a resigned sigh, I stalked over to kneel beside the crusader, Reynauld, who sent me a grateful and understanding nod.

Grabbing under the rough wood, I set my back firm and braced my legs. Ignoring the surge of pain in my arm, I set off a countdown- putting power behind my voice as I squared my shoulders. At the final count Reynauld and I heaved with all our might, our groans of effort yielding result as I felt the timber shift above my grip. To be candid, I wasn't all too physically strong and indeed I felt myself struggling with my every fiber to pull as hard as I was. But it was enough.

The husk yawned, our combined effort enough to pull it up just far enough for the priestess to grasp the trapped man's arms and drag him free. We rallied against it for a moment longer before dropping it sinking into the mud and crumpling over its own distended weight.

"Finally!" The bandit knocked away the vestal's hands, pushing himself up on weak limbs to stand unsteadily, his pinched face yielding a bare note of pain that he quickly shook off. "You.." He hacked, flinging a blob of phlegm into the ground, "You won't catch me dead riding in a hunk of junk like this again."

On that, I would grudgingly agree. How close had I skirted the tenuous barrier between life and death just now? My life was far too important to wager on risks like this anymore.

The vestal finally spoke up, though her voice was delicately understated, it still drew our groups attention, "Did any of you see what happened? I was… erm, distracted, before we crashed…"

Turning away uncaringly, the highwayman indolently jilted his shoulders, "Who knows? Maybe the old bastard slugged from his tin too hard and passed out at the rein. That's what happens when you cheap out on picking drivers."

"Dismas. Enough." Even I had to forestall a shudder of unease when the crusader finally spoke, his deep voice sounding momentarily inhuman beneath the gated metal of his helm. Dismas, the self-preservant shrew that he was, appeared duly annoyed, but held his tongue all the same. Whatever his inclinations, they failed to extend to outright disrespecting or angering his friend.

How long would this go on? If this venture were to succeed, then this insubordination of his could not be allowed to fester any further. I would not allow my decisions to be questioned like this, certainly not by someone like him. But calling attention to it now, in such uncertain conditions, would only bring about more troublesome complications; we could not be divided. Not now.

One day, I would make him understand just where he stood in this hierarchy. A disposable body. Just the same as the rest of them.

"Milord, you're injured." Blinking and turning, I found the vestal approaching me swiftly, her shadowed eyes trained on the still slowly bleeding cavity in my arm. Lifting the carriage must have split open the wound further because it seemed even worse than it had been before. The maiden gestured towards it, her hands hovering close by. "May I?"

I scrutinized her intentions for the moment before nodding, leaving her to do as she wished. Pleased by my compliance, she placed the palm of her hand over the split skin, being careful not to directly touch it lest she agitate it any further. Muttering softly beneath her breath, I could only watch with mute interest as a verdant glow blossomed from between her fingers and a delightfully pleasant warmth began to suffuse my wounded flesh.

Before my very eyes I witnessed the improbable done; my destroyed body knitting itself back together as if under the hand of a skilled surgeon. Blood bubbled up from deep within, searing the veins and blood vessels closed as the skin above lazily stretched to stitch together with the other shredded pieces of meat. It was a fairly slow process, but by its end I could marvel at the blemishless patch of restored flesh.

I had heard tales of the blessed skills passed down by the chapter masters of the church sanctum, but to witness it done so swiftly and proficiently was nothing short of mesmerizing.

"Hmph… Thank you…" I paused, thinking back a moment. "Junia."

Junia merely bowed her acknowledgement, leaving me to address more pertinent matters.

Turning back on the wreck, I lightly stepped across the scattered planks and juts in search of some manner of evidence or happenstance to aleve at least a modicum of the curiosity I now experienced. This situation reeked of danger, and the quicker I got it back under my control the better. A quick glance proved that indeed, the horses were gone, either crushed to pulp somewhere in the mess of timber or off in the forest unreined.

My steps stopped short just in front of where the driver's seat would be. There I found it. A wave of cold-blooded disgust ran down my skin, spider-legged venom splicing my veins as I laid my gaze on the travesty hidden under the mass of the caravan.

The driver, a lean man easily in his mid-sixties with balding and wildly unkempt hair, still yet sat in his favored seat. His dull grey eyes stared up at mine, hazy and unfocused- his entire face slack and slathered in blood. The coachman was jammed in between the thick oak tree and the body of the carriage, an undefinable mess of viscera and clothing lazily pooling and dripping in the minute space between the caravan and the tree.

He had been crushed. The reigns of the runaway caravan must have anchored him to his seat like a noose, imprisoning him to the doomed vessel which ultimately obliterated his chest, legs, and arms when it impacted the perennial. His face, frozen in disbelieving shock, made it clear that his death had at least been a swift, though likely painful, one.

The three soldiers in my command joined me swiftly and seemed just as surprised at the sight as I was. Reynauld, a stoic leader with unerring morals, muttered a terse prayer beneath his helm. Dismas on the other hand seemed wholly unmoved by the gory travesty, and instead stepped forward to take the man's jaw in a firm hold and twist him this way and that. His cunning eyes roamed over the corpse, and he had no qualms with the blood that wet his hands as he handled the man.

I didn't stop him. The man was already gone, he could broker no complaint and I wasn't particularly emotionally invested in him either. If the highwayman sought to pilfer his purse, all the better- best not to leave anything to waste on this journey.

The vestal seemed to be the most affected out of all of us. The instant she came upon the corpse she turned, an unpleasant noise coming from her as she kept her distance. It was a little unusual considering what I expected from someone who had been with the church for so long; all manner of injured and hopeless people go there for care, I doubted she was unaccustomed to this level of butchery.

No matter. I was thankful that she had not expressed the need to empty her stomach at the sight. It would not have instilled a sense of confidence.

I myself felt a little uneasy gazing upon the display. It wasn't as though I were particularly ill-stomached toward such matters, but it was a bizarre feeling to gaze upon a corpse and realize that, should fate have taken even a modestly different course, it could have very well been I there.

"Ah… Found it!"

The Highwayman, still yet knuckles deep in the drivers perforated throat, gave a boorish holler. Heaving a careless tug, the shifty man extricated his fingers with a disgustingly sloppy noise and a splatter of red across his gaunt features. Turning on the spot, he gleefully presented his find, and took great pleasure in the horror that washed over my face.

Pinched between his blood-soaked fingers, a piece of steel hung. The steel, poor-quality and barely sharpened, bore the shape of a spade and the portent therein.

"An… arrowhead?" Junia muttered confusedly, not quite catching onto the dastardly meaning behind the lilliputian shard of metal.

I didn't have the care nor patience to explain it to her. My eyes locked with the deceased carriage-man again, noting the fatal rend stitched into his throat."Damn… I didn't expect this..."

"For once we agree, Rich-boy." Dismas hocked another ball of phlegm, tossing the arrowhead aside and wiping his bloodied palms across his coat. "It's no easy feat to hit a flying carriage driver with an arrow, especially in this dark forest. Even _I_ would have trouble with that. It had to be _quite_ the marksman."

Reynauld cut the man's jealous tirade short, "A marksman I have no interest in meeting. We still have time, we must get out of this clearing before they track us down."

Indeed. The carriage driver, the unfortunate fool that he was, had still managed to move the vehicle a sizable distance as he slowly bled out at his seat. But whoever was responsible for this was not far behind us. If we didn't manage to escape their pursuit, we would slowly be picked off to the last man.

My end would not be here- in the diseased muck of a nameless forest. This was little more than a complication; a misstep that I would correct with impunity.

"The hamlet is not far off. If we move now, without rest, we will make it before nightfall." The trail would be hell, and there was no telling what manner of devilry awaited us further into the embrace of the forest, but there was little other option.

"Fine… It's time you lot proved your worth."


End file.
